Fame
by Rargamonster
Summary: AU, human, genderswap. The misadventures of the Mother of Awesome, pop star extraordinaire, and her songwriter, the mysterious R. Edelstein, as their relationship evolves, in and out of the public eye. PruAus, yuri. Revised Chapter 2 up, and back from hiatus, sort of.
1. Poker Face

**Fame**

A/N: Everyone is going to be genderswapped in this universe – human names for this chapter: Elijah – Hungary; Rosaline – Austria; Mother of Awesome/Julia/Julchen – Prussia; Louise – Germany.

Can you guess who the unnamed characters that appear are?

**Chapter One**

"So, I'll see you around, then?" Elijah asked, a bright, sweet smile spread across his gentle, open face. He looked happy – Rosaline thought he had been happy when they were together, but there was a spark in his eyes that she had never seen in all the years they'd known each other, and now she felt immeasurably silly for coming out here to meet up with him.

She had been surprised when he had called her up out of the blue, wanting to meet and catch up over drinks, and suddenly it had all hit Rosaline – how lonely she had been since they had broken up, just how much she had missed him. And so she had agreed to go out to the type of loud, crowded bar that she usually hated, hoping they might be able to reconnect, rekindle some of what they'd once had…

And then he'd hugged her and smiled at her and told her that he was seeing someone new. And Rosaline had felt her face burn as she felt like the biggest idiot on the planet for thinking that Elijah might actually be interested in her again, and so she'd started ordering glasses of cheap whiskey and drinking them straight in an effort to forget. She'd kept the conversation flowing to distract Elijah from how much she was drinking – she knew he still cared, knew he'd worry – and by now she felt fuzzy and fluid, as if she were a rocking ship on a sea full of cotton balls.

"Of course I'll see you around," she said back, carefully so she didn't slur, trying to wrench her face into a friendly smile. She wasn't sure it worked.

"Good," Elijah put an arm around her shoulders and held her close, and it took all of Rosaline's willpower not to cling to him, not to kiss him, not to beg him to stay with her for just a little while longer…

He sighed contentedly, "I've missed you, Rosie, you have no idea…" She let her heart rise, hopeful for just a moment, before, "I'm so glad we can still see each other like this, and it's not awkward or anything – I'm so glad I still have you as a friend."

Ouch. That was a knife to the heart, and Rosaline just barely suppressed the instinct to flinch away from him, instead looking up and smiling and forcing out the words in a whisper, "I'm glad too."

And then he was gone, with promises to see her again soon, and Rosaline migrated from their table over to dejectedly flop over against a rare empty stretch of bar. It was a moment before a bartender got around to her, during which she was jostled around by the flow of the drunken crowd, an irked frown plastered on her face. She ordered another whiskey from the bartender, a tall, strongly built but gentle-looking man with flaxen hair, who looked a bit worn around the edges.

"You sure about that?" he asked, concerned, as he grabbed for the bottle, "You've had a lot tonight already."

"Just pour it, please," Rosaline said, her voice tense with a half-poised, half-unhinged drunken desperation.

The bartender must have heard something in her tone that convinced him that she needed it, needed this as one last form of comfort – she supposed he must see this every night, more and more people drinking and dancing their sorrows away, and it must be a horribly depressing experience for him, to know he was enabling all of this – biting his lip, he poured out the tumbler and slid it across the bar counter to her, and she slid a folded bill back, taking a grateful sip. It burned on the way down, harsh on her tongue, but hell, that's what she got for ordering the cheap stuff, and it wasn't like she was drinking it for the taste anyway.

She was drinking to ease the burn of humiliation, to make herself forget the stupid ideas she'd had, all those moronic hopes and thoughts and fantasies she'd entertained before Elijah had shot her down without even realizing it.

Speaking of humiliation, the song blaring over the speakers changed to something new, and it made Rosaline want to throw her glass at the wall and march herself out of the crowded bar, never to return again. A new jolt of energy shivered through the masses of people crammed into the darkened room – smiles painting their cheery drunken faces, the crush of people gathered around the bar swaying along to the beat, a few people peppered throughout the crowd singing along.

It _was_ a catchy song, Rosaline had to admit, but it was also _so_ clichéd, so dull and uninspired. Formulaic. Predictable. She should know; she had written it.

Years ago, she'd learned the hard way that the world of classical music was largely still inhabited by a host of racist, sexist douchebags intent on keeping the realm as one big old boys' club – she wished she'd taken the warnings of her instructors and mentors seriously, and she _really_ wished that she had taken the time out of her life to read a couple of damn interviews that might have given her a bit more warning about the world of prejudice she had thrown herself into. "An orchestra of white men playing music by white men for white people"?* It pissed her off that _this_ was what she'd thrown herself up against and lost to, but there wasn't exactly anything she could do about it now – she'd left those dreams behind long ago.

She'd hit rock bottom, desperate and broke and living in a foreign country, and she'd written some amazingly shitty pop songs to get by. Somehow that had gotten her on the radar of a major record company, and now she had actual stable employment for the first time in her life – they'd paired her up with the most obnoxious woman possible, and as long as Rosaline kept writing songs, the "Mother of Awesome," as she called herself, would keep singing and releasing them.

Somehow, she managed to make Rosaline's already ridiculously inane songs even more ridiculous – all of her music videos made Rosaline feel like she needed to lie down, take a painkiller, and seriously reevaluate what exactly she was doing with her life. The kinds of _costumes_ that woman wore made Rosaline consider canceling her Internet service and becoming some sort of urban hermit – at least until Rosaline figured out that those were the kinds of things she wore around town, too. It was absurd, and the scary thing was, _there was no escaping it_.

Somehow, _that woman_ managed to find her, no matter where she went, and it had started to grate on Rosaline's nerves weeks ago. Couldn't she get one fucking night of peace and quiet, without being interrupted by pop stars, screaming fans, and people dressed up like metallic aliens in leather pants?

It was infuriating – and oh, speak of the devil, and she will come, dressed up in glitter and feathers, followed by gasping fans and her overworked manager.

Rosaline knocked back the rest of her drink and ordered another. She was going to need it. She'd locked eyes with the Monster, and it was headed her way…

The tall platinum blonde slid through the parting crowd with the expertise and confidence borne of a severely overinflated ego plus a few months of solid time spent in the spotlight. She was widely considered to the be _the_ rising star of the decade - launched to success by her own brash personality and Rosaline's spare-time compositions, and holding the collective attentions of the entire world by getting herself in and out of scandals, inciting controversy, making incredibly questionable fashion choices in the name of her art, and generally taking the world of pop culture by storm.

Some people thought she was brilliant. Rosaline thought she was a train wreck waiting to happen.

Julia 'Julchen' Beilschmidt, the Mother of Awesome, sauntered up to her and leaned casually up against the bar. Rosaline raised an irritated eyebrow and took a sip of her new drink – it was infuriating, the way the other woman always looked as if she'd just jumped out of a magazine spread, her appearance always just as flawless as her outfits were eclectic. Even at times like this, when it was apparent she'd already had a few drinks.

"Hey there, Rosie-"

"It's Rosaline," she snapped, cutting her off before she could finish whatever idiotic pick-up she was about to spout, and turned to the taller blonde hovering in the background, "Hello, Louise. What has this one been up to tonight? Running you ragged?"

Louise looked even more exhausted and stressed than normal – she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily before answering, "The usual – bar hopping, dancing. She took off her pants on the dance floor a couple clubs ago, but at least that might put the secret-penis rumors to rest. Not sure where that skirt she's wearing came from." The skirt in question was astoundingly short and bedazzled with a multitude of multicolored sequins. Louise rubbed her hand across her temples, before looking up and giving Rosaline a tight, forced smile, "There have been worse nights."

"There have been _awesomer_ nights, you mean," Julia smirked into a tall glass of dark beer, "You should come along sometime, Rosie. Help me get Louie here to loosen up. You could even consider letting your hair down for a night-"

Rosaline swatted away the hand that was reaching for where her hair was tied back into a loose bun.

"-or not," the diva shrugged and took a long sip of beer, fixing Rosaline with an intense stare, an emotion she wasn't quite comfortable enough to name lurking behind the blood-red irises, "It's a shame, babe. I'd show you a good time. You might even have some fun, for once."

"I have plenty of fun," Rosaline retorted, indignant.

"What, drinking your sorrows away and being all depressing? 'Cause that's not what I call fun. And shutting yourself up with nothing but a piano doesn't count, either."

"That's not all I do," Rosaline scoffed, mind racing. Oh god, what else _did _she do? "Sometimes I play the violin." Dammit, that wasn't any better. "And I… I bake cakes, sometimes."

Julia snorted into her beer, "Babe, that sounds fucking boring. You _need_ to get out more. Actually, I'm surprised you're out at all. What were you even doing, this doesn't exactly look like your kind of dive?"

Rosaline looked around the room. The drunken, skirt-stealing pop star had a point. Rosaline was standing in the middle of a trendy dance bar wearing a conservative skirt suit, complete with pantyhose, that she usually reserved for meetings with executives. So what? She'd wanted to look nice to meet with Elijah, and she hadn't been quite sure what kind of place this was, and wasn't it better to be over-dressed than under-?

…Fine. So she stood out from the crowd in an awkward kind of way, among the masses wearing sequined skirts and strappy tanks and body glitter and stilettos.

"None of your business what I was doing," she retorted, crossing her arms.

"Oh, Rosie," Julia cackled, clapping a very uncomfortable-looking Louise on the shoulder as if it were all one big joke, "I already know. Eli texted me, said he didn't feel right leaving you on your own. So here I am! And now you're not alone," she slung an arm about Rosaline's shoulders, who was too stunned to react.

"How do you know Elijah?" she stammered.

"We grew up together, didn't he ever tell you?" Julia said, confused, "I thought he would have, considering how long the two of you were together- Oh," her mouth fell open as if she'd had a sudden epiphany, "Oh! That's- _He's_ why you're being all drunk and depressing, isn't he?" She laughed, loud and raucous, dropping her head down to rest on Rosaline's shoulder and trying to cover her mouth with the hand that was still holding her glass – beer slopped out unsteadily over both of them.

Rosaline frowned, holding in her irritation, concentrating on not snapping, but that didn't last for long.

"His loss, babe – I mean, look at you," Julia gave her a leering once-over that would put creepers on the subway to shame, "Dude's crazy for dumping you."

That last comment was punctuated by a slap on the ass, and that was what made Rosaline snap.

"What the _fuck- _ Get away from me," she hissed, splashing the remaining cheap whiskey from her glass into Julia's overly made-up face.

She froze, eyes wide and blinking in shock, as the alcohol dissolved sections of her makeup and dripped streams of dark liner and shimmery shadow down her face like black, glittery tears. Louise and the others gathered around them in the bar looked on, horrified.

And then she started to laugh, a cackling, breathless laugh that left her gasping for air, and the others joined in, hesitant at first, until the whole bar was laughing except for Rosaline and Louise, who looked at each other uncertainly.

"Didn't know… you had it… in you…" Julia gasped out around bursts of heaving laughter, "You're… more interesting… than I thought…"

The bartender cleared his throat behind them, "I think you've both had enough for tonight."

Still cackling, Julia nodded and set her half-finished beer on the bar counter. Rosaline slowly followed suit and placed her empty tumbler down as well.

"We're leaving now," Louise instructed Julia tensely, shooting an apologetic glance at the bartender as she pulled her sister away and guided her towards the exit.

Rosaline trailed after them, feeling awkward, and once they were outside in the brisk air of early autumn, Julia sidled up to her again and pressed a sloppy kiss to her temple.

"We should do this again sometime," she murmured, "I take it all back, you're more fun than I thought."

Shaking her head, Louise mouthed an apology to Rosaline behind Julia's back, then dragged her sister away. Julia blew her a kiss before they turned onto the next block and disappeared from view.

Rosaline huffed and wiped the lipstick off her forehead.

* * *

A/N:

*quote from a former chairman of the Vienna Philharmonic. From a paper about racism and sexism in classical music, PM me for a link if you're interested, FF keeps eating my formatting.

Just FYI, EVERYONE is going to be genderbent in this AU, and I will be writing some offshoot series in the same universe featuring different central characters – those will probably be released after I've gotten this one well on its way to completion. Many thanks to the lovely minn's . star (no spaces, formatting's being wonky, sorry), who has been an incredible help in getting this universe developed.

As always, reviews, favorites, alerts are received with much love *hearts*


	2. Paparazzi

**FAME**

A/N: I've rewritten this chapter because I was in quite the funk when I wrote the original, and I don't think it reflected the tone I wanted this piece to take, or progress the plot in the direction I wanted it to. I've taken a long break from Fame, and I think I'm at the point where I can start getting back into it – so here's the revised Chapter Two, and hopefully the rest of the story will go more smoothly.

Thanks so much for all the reviews, alerts, favorites. I honestly haven't been expecting anyone to read this, so I was very pleasantly surprised. Any reviews, etc. for this chapter will also be greatly appreciated :)

Names introduced in this chapter: Heidi - Switzerland

**Chapter Two**

The boss had called Rosaline early in the morning, demanding that she come in immediately. Rosaline gathered her composure just long enough to respond shortly but coherently, but once the call was over, she collapsed back into bed to nurse her aching head.

Only for a moment, though; when the boss said immediately, she meant _immediately._

Thank god she'd had the drunken sense to shower before bed. It meant her hair was a disaster, but at least it was clean, so all she had to do was stick it in a quick updo and put on a suit that didn't reek of Julia's spilt beer, and she could be on her way to the office as quickly as possible, so as not to antagonize the boss more than necessary.

She wished she had the time to make herself an actual breakfast and a pot of strong coffee, but a tall glass of water, a multivitamin, and a painkiller would have to do in the meantime.

The subway was crowded and hellish, especially since Rosaline wasn't in the greatest of moods in the first place, and by the time she exited the crowded car and bustling station, she was seething with pent-up frustration, stomping through the lobby to the elevators, fuming quietly all the way up to the top levels where the executive offices were.

"You're late," Heidi snapped at her as she slipped through the office door.

Rosaline threw an exasperated glance at the clock – she was barely a minute late – but she took a seat next to Julia when motioned to. Julia was on time for once, which _had _to be Louise's doing; everyone knew that the diva's sister and manager was as dreary and disciplined as Julia was dazzling and dynamic, and most wondered how the hell the two were still on speaking terms.

Heidi – sitting ramrod straight in her tall-backed chair, blonde bob impeccably in order, bright green eyes fixing both women with an intense stare – looked quite displeased. She let the silence stretch on to the point where it started to become uncomfortable, holding her glare on each of them in turn until they broke eye contact, feeling awkward. Julia rolled her eyes conspiratorially at Rosaline; Rosaline sighed and looked away. Both of them were acting like children, but she had learned not to say anything about it, because that would just make Heidi lecture them for longer.

Finally, Heidi spoke, "I woke up this morning, and while I was out for my morning run, I saw something interesting. Something interesting that seems to be on every tabloid cover on every newsstand in the city. Maybe even the country. And then I got home, and made myself breakfast, and turned on the TV, and guess what the anchors were joking about between segments? And then I tried talk radio, and they were all talking about the _exact same thing_," she raised a contempt-filled eyebrow at the pair, "I'll give you three guesses as to what they were all so _fascinated_ by, and the first two don't count."

"Fuck, I dunno, are they still talking about that face-eating zombie shit?"

That was Julia. Rosaline brought a hand to her forehead; she had an idea of what Heidi was hinting at, and that meant that this was _not_ going to be a good day.

"No," Heidi frowned.

Leaning over behind her desk, Heidi pulled up a large portfolio which she set on the desk in front of her. She paused for effect, an appraising eyebrow raised, before she opened up the folder and pulled out the first paper. Dreading what she might see, Rosaline leaned closer to the desk to look.

Splashed across the front page was a washed-out color picture of Julia pressed close to her side, an arm hooked lightly around her waist, and from the angle of the photo and the way their heads tilted, it certainly looked like things were getting a bit steamy. Much more steamy than had actually happened.

Julia threw her head back and laughed as Heidi kept pulling papers and gossip magazines out of the portfolio. There were more pictures than just the one – someone had captured a pretty good shot of the whiskey being thrown into Julia's face, a part of Rosaline had to stop to appreciate the arc of the liquid captured midair, and the way the dim light sparkled through the drink, and the contrast between dark room and light hair that put Julia clearly into focus. There were other pictures from the bar that Rosaline was less fond of – Julia standing close to her in the crush of people, leaning over her, touching her hair, her shoulders… Each of the pictures was composed in such a way as to make the whole scene look far more intimate than Rosaline had remembered.

The last paper landed on Heidi's desk with a slap. This one had a close-up of Rosaline's disgruntled face under a headline speculating on the identity of Lady Awesome's "secret lover".

"I really wasn't expecting this of you," Heidi said, after she'd let the pictures sink in for a moment, "You, I'm not surprised," she said to Julia, who was still snickering in her seat, "But you, Rosaline…" Heidi fixed her with a cold stare, "I never thought I would see something like this from you."

"This isn't what it looks like," Rosaline sputtered, but Heidi continued talking over her.

"When we first spoke, you said you wanted nothing to do with the media. Didn't want to give interviews, didn't even want us to credit your full name. And now," Heidi crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, nodding at the spread of papers on the desk, "Now we see this happen. What's _changed?_"

"What do you mean? Nothing's changed," she protested, wondering why Heidi was sounding so accusatory. This was just a mistake, just the paparazzi and some star-struck fans and gossip-mongers taking pictures and blowing things out of proportion, looking for a story. They could set it all straight. They _would_ set it all straight, right?

Heidi shook her head slowly – was that disappointment? – and Rosaline bristled at being treated like a misbehaving child.

"I can't do anything to protect you from the media if _you're_ not going do anything to be careful. If you're going to flaunt this, that's your decision, and you'll have to deal with the ramifications."

"_What am I flaunting?_" Rosaline hissed, but Heidi had already moved on to Julia.

"And you. You do realize that you've made a shitstorm for Louise and I to deal with? Already I've got reporters on my ass, wanting some sort of comment on all this, and there are blogs going crazy about whether or not this means you're a lesbian, whether or not this puts a different meaning to any of your songs, and whether or not you're a demoness sent up from the underworld to convert our nation's children to homosexuality, and all _sorts_ of other shit.

"We need to decide _right now_ how we're going to handle this. They say all publicity is good publicity, but I'm worried about boycotts. You piss off enough people, and you're gonna have to lie low for a while until this all blows over-"

"No one's gonna boycott over this," Julia interrupted, "Some people might be pissed, yeah, but I've _never_ been Little Miss Wholesome, so it's not like they were our demographic anyway."

"In any case, now I've got to do _damage control_ to save your sorry ass," Heidi grumbled, glaring at Julia venomously, "I should just stay out of it, let you handle it yourself. Maybe then you'll appreciate all the work we do to keep your names from being dragged through the mud."

"You know what? Don't. Don't even bother," Julia stood sharply and paced the room, fingers laced together behind her back, "This is a good thing."

"_How _is this a good thing?" Rosaline whined, but Heidi spoke over her.

"I don't know what's going on in that fluff-filled little head of yours, but this is _not_ a good thing. You're mostly concerned with running around town, getting drunk, and causing a scene. _I'm_ concerned about fucking fundamentalists staging protests. I'm concerned about suburbanites and country club yuppies deciding that you're a bad influence on their precious youth. And _I have to fix the messes you've made_. So sit down, shut the fuck up, and _do as I say._"

Julia's eyes flashed as she glared across the desk at Heidi and straightened her stance so that she towered over the smaller woman, "_Do as you say?_ And what the fuck makes you think that would be a good idea? Y'know, darling, being publicly neutral on too many issues makes you come off as wishy-washy. Unstable. Indecisive. _Weak._ And those are all things that I most certainly fucking am not."

She tossed her head cockily, mane of platinum blonde hair cascading about her shoulders. "If I lose listeners over this, then guess what? They were a bunch of intolerant, bigoted shitfucks anyway, and _I don't fucking care_ if they're pissed over choices I've made in my personal life. And I'm hardly going to bow to them, or to you, over this."

Heidi sighed and sank back into her chair. "I didn't expect anything different from you. On your own head be it," and, with a disdainful glance over to Rosaline, "Good luck handling this on your own."

"What?" Rosaline was flabbergasted, "But… But this isn't even what it looks like! Nothing happened. And you're going to pretend that something happened to help your image, even though there is absolutely nothing going on between us?"

"Your problem. I'm not getting involved anymore," Heidi said, her attention now glued back onto her computer screen as she waved them away.

"There doesn't _have_ to be nothing going on between us," Julia's arm snaked its way around Rosaline's waist as Louise ushered them both out the door, "We could always stir up a little more controversy," she said suggestively, winking as she slid her reflective sunglasses down over her eyes.

"No thank you," Rosaline replied, giving the pop star a look of mild disgust.

"Come on. Your picture's already out there, and nothing in the world's gonna get that back. Might as well run with it, and have a little fun in the process, right?"

"I shudder to think of what you would consider to be 'fun' in this situation," she shot back drily.

"Hmm… I was thinking we could release a sex tape. Whaddaya think about that?" Julia murmured into her ear.

Rosaline looked at her as if she had lost her mind and shoved her away. "_What?_"

"Just a bit of fun," the crooked smirk was back on Julia's face.

"You're disgusting," Rosie snapped, "Using me like this."

"No one has to know _who_ you are, doll," Julia insisted, reaching out to stroke her cheek, "we'll keep your name out of everything."

Rosaline flinched away from her touch, "I'm not just concerned about my name. It's my face, too, on every single newsstand in the whole goddamn country."

"It's not a big deal. It'll blow over in a week or two, seriously."

"I don't expect it to be a big deal to someone like _you_. But you are not going to take advantage of my image for your fucking publicity stunts. And if you don't like _that_, you can go try and find someone else who'll put up with you."

With that, Rosaline left the building.

* * *

People had stared and muttered about her on the subway, and everywhere she looked there were those stupid fucking glossy magazines. The man at the convenience store register had stared at her, openmouthed, as she tried to pay for a pint of chocolate ice cream, and now she sat miserably in her apartment, eating said ice cream directly from the container with a tarnished spoon.

Her phone sat on the couch, at the furthest possible point from the corner where she was curled up in her patched pajamas. She'd gotten a text from Elijah earlier that read "_Holy shit, you and Julchen? Hot ;)" _and after that, she'd decided that it was best not to look at her phone.

It was ringing, currently. She ignored it, but it started ringing again seconds after the call went to voicemail. And again, several more times.

She scooched across the couch and flipped her phone up so she could see who was calling. It was Julia. The call went to voicemail one more time, and started ringing again immediately after.

Against her better judgment, Rosaline answered it.

"Hey, it's Julchen. Buzz me up?"

"Fuck off." Rosaline hung up, but the phone rang again seconds later. She seethed at it, answering again with, "What the fuck part of fuck off do you not understand?"

"Hold up and listen a sec. I'm not here to bother you."

"How the fuck do you even know where I live?"

"The Great Louise knows all."

"Should have guessed," Rosaline muttered, "Still not letting you up."

"Come on," Julia groaned, "I just wanted to drop something off, then I'll fuck off and leave you alone, okay?"

"…Fine."

Rosaline buzzed her up, and, true to her word, Julia stopped in the door only long enough to hand over a paper bag, saying, "I thought this might help," faux-nonchalantly before slipping back into the elevator and leaving.

She placed the bag on her coffee table and stared at it suspiciously for a long moment before finally opening it up. Inside she found a pair of gigantic sunglasses with mirrored lenses, a couple of tubes of garishly bright lipsticks (with matching blush), and clip-in hair extensions (one set that was absurdly long and matched her hair color perfectly; one set of multicolored streaks).

There was also a note:

_Like I said, those pictures are already out there, and there's nothing that can get them back. If you don't want to be recognized, you gotta disguise yourself in the meantime. Everything should blow over soon, if we ignore it. _

_Also you gotta start dressing differently. Quit it with those suits, girl! It's not like you even have a stuffy office job or anything like that. It'll make you harder to recognize, and it'll make you like ten times hotter. Nothing wrong with the sexy librarian look, but that sort of thing shouldn't be a lifestyle. Just sayin'. _

_And are you sure you don't want to do that sex tape? I'd even be okay with doing a sexy librarian one, if you wanted ;)_

_The AWESOME Julchen_

Rosaline crumpled up the note in disgust, and stashed the bag in her bathroom cabinet. No matter how much she disliked Julia and her tactics, she had a point. Rosie would be needing disguises in the coming weeks, so she might as well put all this to use.


End file.
